


Unholy Retribution

by Mercurys_legs



Category: Original Work
Genre: All Characters are Original Characters, Elves, Templars, implied rape, inspired by dragon age and magic the gathering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-12-24 16:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercurys_legs/pseuds/Mercurys_legs
Summary: What do you do when your whole world comes crashing down around you? When everything loses all order, right becomes wrong, and madness seems preferable to reality?Verðandi Ahlträd is faced with a similar dilemma, but the solution is much clearer to her than it might be to you.Find those who held responsibility, and cut them down. No matter the cost, no matter the collateral damage caused.She knew she was still weak, still insignificant, but soon, very soon, everyone who had wronged her would suffer.





	1. Hail to the King

**Author's Note:**

> So enters two young..shall we say, irregulars. A fate, shared. A path, entwined. Two beginnings, rather unlike in nature, brought together by a common foe. And two personalities, that definitely do not mix  
> Verðandi Ahlträd, a skilled hunter and fighter, known for defeating the eldritch abominations plaguing Niflheim. See her beginning, know her fears, and discover her fate.
> 
> This is the first time i have written an original work, and i would love if someone would like to assist. While i can write the main story, the events and the conversations, i struggle with bringing it to life, giving it that critical kind of detail.  
> My gmail is theweepinggod @ gmail . com. i can share the document with you

Verðandi  
Starkehaven wasn’t a big town, with roughly two hundred people, but it held its own through centuries of war, famine, disease, and Inks. It was a hardy town with hardy people. People trusted each other, and they never fought, because negative emotion and violence, on a large enough scale, could draw a menagerie of creatures to us. Even a flash of jealousy could, were the person unlucky, be enough for a Nacken to lock onto them, tormenting them and driving them mad, which brought a whole new host of problems. 

But the people of Starkhaven, as I said, were hardy people. They knew the dangers of living so far from a city. Call it pride, or hubris, or stupidity if you want, but the town had held its ground  
longer than some cities. 

To an outsider, the town would look like it was falling apart- the houses were often leaning into the marshy ground, and the roads were hardly there; only a few stones here and there marked them. Many of the houses had been abandoned years ago, and some joked that the town had moved a few yards to the east. The houses weren’t abandoned because they were cursed, or falling apart. The residents had just felt like rebuilding- they literally wanted to build a new house, just because they could. 

Starkhaven didn’t have much contact with the kingdoms, either- actual currency was rare to see here, and we don’t export many products. Aspiring cartographers, artificers, alchemists or hunters would go to their schools, and when they graduated, they would use the money they got to keep the village out of the woods. We have a reputation of being resoundingly hardworking, quiet people.

All of this filtered through my mind as I sat on a bench in the town square, though it took a backseat to another thought- why was it called the town square, when it was more of an irregular dodecahedron? 

The town irregular dodecahedron was the only part of Starkhaven where the ground was actually paved, and it was, naturally, home to the shops. There was the wood carver’s home, bordering the third side of the dodecahedron to my left, the bakery right behind me, the butcher’s four sides to the right of it. We never really traded in money- we all knew exactly what we needed, and we trusted each other, so money was never needed. 

Though, in fairness, if we did have a substantial amount of money, we could at least have some plumbing. Trying to take a dump next to the marsh is, undeniably, terrifying. Being caught by any manner of creature in the middle of the process was something that I am fairly confident everyone has had a nightmare about at least once. The strange mist that covered Niflhel, which sometimes sparked with wild magic, didn’t make it any less terrifying.

I shook myself from my reverie, steeling my focus. I needed to be ready for anything, and while there was no danger at the moment, I couldn’t allow myself to develop bad habits. Considering my job in Starkhaven was hunting monsters, bad habits meant death, or worse, moon sickness. 

But focusing was always difficult for me, even after a hunt. My mind was always wandering, nitpicking at tiny details I couldn’t change, or pondering why people said things the way they did.  
I hadn’t realized I had drifted again until I heard my name, shouted by a shrill, yet unquestionably male voice.  
(exposition end, rising action begins)  
Havadr Funar, the rope maker's son was running towards me, tripping on the uneven cobblestone. Immediately I was standing, my mind locking into a mode that I could never explain to other people. 

“Verðandi! You need to… the lake… you need to help,” he babbled, his chest pumping painfully fast. I grabbed his shoulder, every move I made feeling… different, somehow. 

“Slow down, Havadr. You’re hyperventilating,” I told him in a quiet, steely voice.  
He, surprisingly, did calm down, and I noticed a cut on his cheek. Something about it seemed wrong, but he spoke, his words shaky.

“My father went to the lake, with a friend, I think. I went with him, and I asked him who the friend was. He said the son of a family friend, someone who went to the Artificer’s college. They got on a boat, and I stayed at shore, because it was a two person boat. I started to doze off-they were there for a few hours- when something tipped the boat, and both of them went under.”  
His voice went higher towards the end, and I gripped his shoulder a bit tighter.

“What happened to your cheek?” I asked. Something felt off about this whole thing, but I couldn't figure it out. Maybe there was a Trollkärringar nearby, and this was its trap. If so, then I’d go with it. I’d killed enough of them to know their tactics. 

“I-I fell, when I ran here. W-why is that important?” he asked, and the way his voice stuttered made my neck tingle. He was lying- a Trollkärringar had to be behind this. They were notorious for using children as bait. 

I didn't respond to his question, instead telling him to take me to the dock his father and his friend had been at. 

He nodded, gulping audibly, before trotting away. I followed his pace easily, adrenaline pumping through me. We left the north part of town, straight past my own house. My mother, who had just opened the door to head to the woodcarver’s, judging by the piece of paper in her hand, looked at me in alarm. I waved a hand, mouthing ‘Witch’, earning a worried look, followed by a grim nod.  
While I had dealt with many of them and knew their tactics, they used dark magic. Magic in general could have unpredictable effects at unpredictable times, even at its most refined, and dark magic was hardly refined. 

Havadr lead me through the marsh bordering Starkhaven, and I admired his agility. Before, on the cobblestone, he had been panicked, his feet slipping painfully because he couldn't focus. But now, he seemed filled with a sort of grim determination, and while he tripped every now and then,  
I saw something I could train. 

But that thought soon took a backseat to a nearly painful burning sensation behind my eyes. And I use the word burning, but only because I can't think of another way to describe it. It felt sort of like your leg falling asleep, but… reversed, if that makes any sense, and many times more intense. 

I briefly wondered if I might be losing my sight, or if a Nacken had taken to me. But, before I could make mental plans to rid myself of spirits, just in case, we came to the docks. 

I found that I had overtaken Havadr, but we had been close enough that his assistance was no longer needed. I turned, ready to tell him as such, when a glint of silver caught my eye. Roughly ten meters along the shoreline from us, a carriage had been parked, two mares roped to it. Around it stood lightly armored men, wearing plain, generic chain and plate mail. Accompanying them, however, was a Templar. 

Historically, the Templar Order was a force of peace, a group ready to ride to their deaths to keep the demons of the Dark at bay. But in the past century, a new leader had come into play.  
Starkhaven, as I said before, didn’t receive much contact from the outside world, but we received news. And organizations, like the Templars, typically didn’t travel here for anything, including the reported silencing of criticism. The criticism came into light after some historians discovered that the new leader of the templars was illegitimate. Messengers had come here before the templars were able to stop them at the cities, but apparently thought us to be insignificant enough to ignore. 

The inhabitants of Starkhaven came to learn, over fifty years, that the new templar leader had imposed a military state in Neproniknutelný Bohatý, the Bastion City. Eventually, messengers stopped arriving, and we all assumed that people simply weren't allowed to leave without permission from the Order. But before that happened, we heard enough. The templars were effectively given free reign to do as they wished. Hundreds of reports of assault, unsanctioned drafts, murder, and even rape were brought to the attention of the city, but the Church of Hyldemoer came to the Order’s defense, giving the Order a holy pardon. That was the last message we ever received. 

Templars had become a symbol of fear and political corruption, and the human kingdoms were thrown into a civil war. The land of Sørgull, the southernmost country in Niflhel, actually removed the templars from their lands before they could gain a foothold, killing the ones who strayed too close to their holy lands, where Hyldemoer slept. 

I rounded on Havadr, my blood boiling. For a Starkheiml, a resident of Starkhaven, lying was punishable by banishment, no matter the circumstances. Betraying us to the templars was unimaginable. He stood behind me, looking utterly ashamed.

“How could you, Havadr?!” I demanded, stepping towards him. 

“I had too, Verðandi!” he protested, his eyes wide with fear and guilt. “They would burn down Starkhaven!” 

The palm of my hand struck his cheek harshly, and he cried out, falling.

“Then we would die in battle! This…” I gestured to the templar, who watched curiously, “This is cowardice. Starkhaven has no honor now.”

He began sobbing, but I felt no pity for him. All I felt was rage. Rage towards him and towards the templar for doing this. 

That rage made me do something very stupid. 

“Havadr, go back to the village. Tell them what you did. Tell them I'm probably dead by now,” the words came out in a dead tone. I had accepted that my life would end now. 

Havadr began running away, scrambling to get to his feet on the soggy, mossy ground. I turned, time seeming to slow for me as it always did before a fight. Of course, it was just some sort of heightened perception, because I didn’t move faster than usual. 

With this heightened perception, everything came into sharp focus around me. I could see every detail in the dirt, every pore on the mercenaries face, every wrinkle in their clothes.  
What I didn’t see, however, was how one of them had fired an arrow, not at me, but at the still retreating form of Havadr. 

As this realization hit me, my focus broke, and the arrow screamed through the air. I could only watch in horror as it struck Havadr square in the neck, severing his spine like a swipe from a vlkodlak. He went limp mid-stride, falling forward like a puppet.  
Even though he had brought disgrace upon Starkhaven, he was still Starkheiml. He was still family. 

My vision went red, and I lunged towards the mercenaries, not noticing how the templar only watched. 

As they drew their swords and drew back their bow, I drew my own weapons- two curved daggers, with a leather grip covering a bone handle. 

The first mercenary, a tall, burly man with 5 teeth, at most, roared and swung his sword. Considering how sloppily the move was, it was a simple task to roll beneath it, and plunge the dagger in my left hand into his stomach. The second mercenary, a shorter man with maybe two more teeth, tried to stab me, but I hooked the dagger in the first ones stomach against his belt, yanking him into the path of his friend’s blade. Before the shorter one could react, I kicked the now dead one forward into Shorty, knocking him down and leaning forward to slitting his throat. 

The third mercenary, the one who fired the arrow at Havadr, panicked, and started to run. Before I could react, a templar dagger whipped through the air, impaling itself in his head, killing him instantly. 

I turned, heart racing, and teeth bared. I must have looked like a wild animal, because even the templar looked a bit cautious, as if I might start foaming at the mouth. All things considered, I might. 

“Well, I’ll be damned. Starkhaven was worth it,” the templar muttered, removing their helmet. The helmet itself was designed to completely mask the wearer’s identity-the slit for the eyes was designed so that enough light came in to allow the wearer to see, but not enough for anyone to see in. The sides of the helmet were adorned with metal thorns, shaped to resemble that of a rose. 

Her chest-plate bore the Order’s symbol- a candle, burnt down to a stubble, who’s tiny flame produced a trail of smoke. In the smoke, a large, stylized eye peered out.  
She peered down at me, her grey eyes hard, and a scar carving a trench through her cheek. 

I raised my daggers, waiting for her to move. She didn't. She might as well have been a statue.  
We stood there for at least five minutes, eyes locked together. She finally spoke up, growing impatient. 

“Look, kid. You’re coming with me. I don’t give a damn if you want to or not,” she said, leaning down to my eye level. I refused to back away, even as she moved inches away from my face.  
“Lord Brynhildr demands a draft, to defend Neproniknutelný Bohatý from the next Blight.”  
I frowned, letting my guard down, my mind racing. Another blight? There hadn’t been one for hundreds of years.

As my mind wandered, a dark object whooshed down, slamming into my skull. Pain exploded across my head, and I dropped like a sack, my body completely numb.

“I told you- you're coming with me.”


	2. Rise and Fall

Aðelsteinn  
The third ring of Neproniknutelny wasn’t glamorous in any way- the streets were covered in dirt and filth, the shops were run down, homeless bums were plentiful. Templars had free reign, killing any they found ‘suspicious’, though I had seen them kill babies. It made it quite difficult for a merchant dealing in complex baubles and trinkets and illegal drugs, weapons, and texts such as myself to make a good living. 

Not that I disliked the challenge. 

I had, in the past few weeks, set up a shop in the south-eastern part of the ring, an area in which, for some reason, templars were sparse. The building was built into the outer wall, which towered high above everything in the ring, casting a dark shadow over my business. The shop was also shielded from view by other run down and abandoned homes and shops, with only a narrow alley leading to it. The alley branched off from a veritable maze of paths, unmarked on any maps. One need only to take one wrong turn, and they’d be lost forever. Well, at least long enough to deter them from attempting to return. 

I had hired a group of ex-templars, those token few who had taken issue with the new order and thrown down their holy silver blades. They had been marked as criminals, to be taken in and imprisoned for life, with no chance for trial or bail. It had been a simple matter to persuade them that my business offered them a chance to, at least, spite the order that had disowned and criminalized them. 

Their job was simple-keep inquisitive peasants away from my shop- those who lived in the outer rings would do anything to gain even a tiny favor of the order or of the city. Nobles made up my customer body, because they had the money, and what I sold, they were addicted to. 

Over the three weeks I had had this operation running, i had gained enough money to buy myself a castle, and enough sensitive intel to blackmail half the cities nobles. That was another thing that kept them coming- if they stopped, all i had to do was say a handful of words and their reputation could come crumbling down. Admittedly, I had done that just for fun on occasion, but the only people hurt were the rich. 

Today, though cloudy and rainy, started out no different than any other. I woke up, of course, wide awake and well rested. Despite running an organized crime ring, i slept quite well on my giant cushy mattress. Of course, my workers are well accommodated- they each get an equally cushy, albeit narrower mattress, and I ensure that their living areas are suitable. Not many crime lords can say the same. 

I slid out from under my blankets, sighing as the cool Überhageligan air nipped at my bare chest. Out of unconscious habit, my left hand trailed along the scars that branched out across my skin like a lightning bolt. Fitting, considering that electricity had caused the scar. My right arm, which ended just before where my elbow should have been, was rough and grooved like damascus steel, scar tissue whirling and spiralling hypnotically. Briefly, I thought back to my time at the Artificer’s College, the place i had sustained all the injuries. Some might say my carelessness and arrogance led to the incident, but I knew the damn elf who had dropped the Aether filled vial had caused the explosion. 

Shaking myself from my post-slumber reverie, I grabbed a form-fitting waistcoat, crafted from fabric dyed with squid ink. The buttons on the front glinted with gold, and the top two, just under my chin, had emeralds embedded in them. Shouldering it on atop a plain white shirt, i admired myself in the mirror, winking a bright red eye at the reflection. My skin was rather dark, surprisingly, considering I had been born in Sørgull, largely a fishing city. Seeing even a slightly tanned person there was rare, so i was a black sheep. Quite literally, I realized with a smirk. It was replaced with a scowl at the realization that it had taken me 18 years to figure that particular detail out. 

Shaking my head dismissively, I grabbed the last thing I needed for the day- my arm.  
Having attended the Artificer’s College, I had learned quite a bit about the art of creating just about anything imaginable. 

Artifice, I had learned, was much more than simply creating swords and shields, bowls and goblets. A skilled artificer could create a mechanical soldier, given enough time and materials. I had seen a mechanical dragon, the culmination of over three centuries work, and I still could hardly believed it was real. 

All things considered, it was hardly a trouble to create a functioning prosthetic for myself. Aside from working with one hand, that is. That was quite difficult. 

Hitching the gear-filled device to the stump of my arm, I went downstairs, greeted by the usual- a few of my ex-templars, sleeping on their mattresses. I yawned briefly, gently shaking them awake, one by one. 

“Rise and shine, folks! We’ve got a busy day ahead of us!” I sang, smirking as they groaned tiredly.

“Gods, Adel. It’s too early!” One of them, a stocky woman named Bergljot, complained, her rough voice cracking.

“Well, Burger, if you hadn’t been drinking so much last night…” another, a tall man named Jacob began, but was cut off by a withering glare from Bergljot.

“Yeah, shove it up yer arse, ya walnut,” she spat back. I stepped back, smiling, as they dressed themselves. 

I watched them dress, not for any sort of pleasure, but to check them for any marks or odd behaviors. If you bring someone in for a checkup, they can hide things, dismiss them as normal. 

But in the morning, when you’ve just woken up, it gets hard to hide things. 

Once they finished, donning simple leather and brass armor, atop plain waistcoats, they followed me through a door on the back wall of the shop. 

While the front room provided them a sleeping area, for now, it also served as the place where i would display the legal portion of my product. The back area, where we had just gone, held our little ‘conference room’- a small space with only a wooden table and a map of the city.  
“Bergljot,” i said, giving her a somewhat irritated look, “Please, in the future, try to limit your drinking. We can’t afford errors on the job.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing.

 

“Adel, it’s fine. No one is gonna notice a hungover pisser in the third ring,” she smirked, leaning back. I narrowed my eyes at her, letting my irritation shine through completely. Something in my expression must have intimidated her, because she began fidgeting.

 

“Well, i guess i can deal with a little less…” she mumbled, looking at her colleagues. They shrugged, the taller one, Jacob, smirking a bit.

“Wonderful!”I let a false cheer lift my voice up, and sat down at the head of the table. 

“So, what's the agenda today?” Jacob asked, stretching his arms above his head. I smirked, pointing to him with a flourish.

“You, my good sir, are asking the right questions,” I joked, earning a chuckle. “Well, to put it simply, today, we gotta get some stuff done.”  
I stood up from my seat, pacing slowly.

“Today, we have Templars from Blackcliffe coming, to hold a draft.”  
Jacob sat up, looking incredulous.

“A draft?! What the fuck?”

A dagger impaled itself in the table in front of him, inches from his stomach. He paled, realizing his mistake a bit too late.

“Yes, Jacob, a draft. The first one in two and a half centuries. I do not believe, however, that it warrants such foul language,” I hissed, leaning forward. He gulped, sitting back in his seat meekly.  
“So, what do we need to get done?” Bergljot asked, unfazed by the incident. I grinned, sauntering over to her side.

“The lower class will be panicking as a result of this visit, and with panic comes a sea of customers.”

Jacob grinned. “They’re gonna want something to take the edge off, aren’t they?” 

I nodded, smiling. “Now, of course, they will have to be patient. We can’t have them swarming our little shop here, for obvious reasons. We need to control the… oh, what’s the word?”

“Release?” Jacob offered, sitting leisurely once more. I shook my head, biting my lip.

“Output?” Bergljot said, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, the output. Thank you, Berg. We need to have a controlled output of our product. So, Jacob, you get a special job today,” I sang, earning a groan from him.

“As long as it don’t have nothing to do with the Kelpies, boss.” he shuddered. “Those things are awful bastards.”

Bergljot laughed, leaning forward. “Jacob, they liked you. Why else would they try to drown you that way?” 

Jacob shook his head, wagging a finger. “Don’t remind me, Burger. Don’t remind me.”  
After letting them banter a bit, I spoke up again.

“Alright, alright. Jacob, I just need you to take some of the product to our other location, keep the customer body diluted. Bergljot, you just watch the templars, as usual.”

Bergljot nodded, giving me a sloppy salute. All things considered, it was difficult to imagine that they were former templars. 

I sat down once more, anxiety and excitement creeping in. “Remember, today is going to be dangerous. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of templars are coming to Neproniknutelny, and we need to be ready.”

They nodded, their demeanor becoming more serious now. I waved a hand, and they left the room, letting the door swing shut slowly. 

I leaned back, letting out a sigh. I didn’t let them see it, but i felt something coming. Something huge. 

Something life changing. And it wasn’t the templars. 

After contemplating how exactly I was going to accommodate for our new visitors, I stood, cracking my knuckles on my left hand, and went back to my room. Once there, I moved to the right side of my bed, kneeling down. I pried the floorboards apart, revealing a box with gold framework and a delicate ornamental lock. Gently lifting it out, I set it on my bed, before resting on my knees, my heart pounding. The last time I had used the object inside… bad things had happened. Not just to me, but to those who heard. 

The first time I played it, my mother watched me, applauding my skill. I had smiled, giggling like the child I was then. I gently placed the object back in it’s case, still reveling in its novelty, when my mother cried out in pain, collapsing to the floor. I rushed to her side, not sure what had happened, when she began choking. White foam began rising inside her mouth, and I panicked, running outside into the streets, screaming for help. My then-neighbor came rushing out, and i pulled him into my home, my small frame shuddering with sobs. 

She had died seconds after I left her side. The town doctor declared that she had died of hemlock poisoning. 

Years later, I tried playing the instrument again, for a girl I fancied. We sat on the docks, letting the calm Sørgullan air waft over us. We kissed a few times, simply enjoying each other’s presence. I decided to pull out the instrument, to play her a song, and so I played. I played her a song, one that matched the soft lapping of the waves beneath our feet, the warm breeze, the gentle cawing of the gulls. 

When I retreated back to where I had left the box, a few meters from the edge of the dock, it collapsed, dropping the girl into the waters, crushing her as it fell on top. I had been chased from the village as a result, and so began my tutelage at the Alchemist’s College. 

Sighing, I gently pushed the lid of the box open, revealing a violin, made from a blood red wood, with gold inlays and an opal fretboard. The bow was made from the same kind of wood, with jade swirling along its length, like oil in water. 

Gently, I lifted the instrument out, resting it on my shoulder, and raising the bow to the strings. With a hesitant breath, I drew the bow across the low string, bringing a crisp, hypnotic, almost otherwordly note from it. I also found it to be tuned perfectly. 

I hesitated again, remembering how it seemed to have ruined me before. Telling myself I had just been unlucky, I dredged up a memory of how to play the damn thing, chuckling to myself. No matter how long, my fingers knew just what to do.

My left hand gripped the neck, the fingers dancing along the strings like dancers in a gentleman’s club, and my right hand held the bow, expertly sawing away at the strings, swaying to and fro, with my body as I moved with the tune.

The song was sad, yet hopeful, and I whimsically wondered if it reflected me, my soul. My father always said that songs proved to be castle gates to the soul, compared to one’s eyes. I dismissed the thought quickly enough. I wasn’t soft like that. I ran a crime ring, for crying out loud. 

As the song drew to a close, something downstairs produced a loud crashing sound, and shouts rang out, no doubt templars, by the way they cried out their goddess’ name. Their presence faded from my mind, as the song became everything. It rose in pitch and rhythm as they crashed through the shop, no doubt tearing it to pieces. Somebody, whether it be a customer or one of my templars, must have leaked the location, but that took a backseat to the song.

Soon enough, they burst through the door to my room, shouting incoherently. My song drew to a close, ending on a long, sad note, and I turned to face them. 

I smiled, still euphoric from my song, and gave an exaggerated bow. The templar in front, a tall man, stepped forward, holding his sword up.

One of the templars hesitantly clapped, before another smacked him in the back of the head. The leader smirked, sheathing his blade after a moment’s thought. 

“Aðelsteinn Almstedt, by the power of the Templar order, you are under arrest for the illegal production and sale of weapons and drugs, and for heresy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Überhagelig is the northern country of Niflhel, while Sørgull is in the south. Überhagelig is a cold place, typically covered in snow and frost, and Sørgull is only slightly warmer, known for it's fishing towns and popular Cartographers, and Artificers. Both are blanketed by the omgivende, the ambient, which looks like a thin fog.


	3. Savages

Verðandi

I awoke to a dull, pounding ache in my head and a rather uncomfortable rocking motion throwing my body around. 

I tried to push myself into a sitting position, but found that my wrists were tied together behind my back. I settled for squirming onto my back and curling up. 

I found myself in a wagon, likely the templars, bars making up one wall and poorly assembled wooden planks making the rest. A biting wind whistled through the gaps, nipping at my ears, and sending involuntary shudders through my body. To no surprise, after checking my person, my daggers were gone, as was my fur coat and leather armor. While I had been unconscious the templar had dressed me in plain cotton clothes, barely thick enough to hold against the chill of the hinterlands. If this was meant to be a recruitment, then they were doing a shoddy job at keeping me alive and healthy. 

The wagon suddenly jolted to the side, tossing me back onto my side, and scraping the back of my hand on the floor. Hot pain shot through my arm, and I bit my lip to keep myself from gasping. I didn’t want the templar to know I was awake yet. 

Sitting back up, I looked to see what had caused the pain. A strange mark had been burnt into the skin, blistering it and probably permanently scarring it. I had to resist the urge to scream. The idea of belonging to something, to someone, outside of Starkhaven was repugnant, foul, disgusting. I made up my mind then, that whatever happened, I would not live as a slave, even if it meant my death.

Rage continued to boil up inside me, and, though I must have been imagining it, the cold air no longer stung. My skin felt hot to the touch. 

Hours passed as I stewed in my emotions, silently cursing the damned templars. How dare they?! Starkhaven had seen no evidence of an Ink, no bands of undead, no minor demons. The Omgivende, the faint mist that blanketed the land, didn’t spark red, and it didn’t taste sour. And yet Lord Brynhildr, damned be his name, declared that an Ink was indeed coming! Starkhaven almost always felt the first impacts of such an event, isolated and unprotected as it was. The Aphotic, the creatures who bring the Ink, always roamed the land in small packs, no more than two or three at a time, unless there was an Ink. During an Ink, they came flooding out of the shadows in armies, enough to overwhelm nearly any force that stood against them. The last Ink, which had occurred mere decades ago, nearly brought about the end for us. Neproniknutelný was decimated, and it was only by the grace of the gods that a lone templar was able to strike down the Nightmare controlling the Aphotic. That man was Lord Brynhildr. 

That was the only reason the templars had such power. Why, they argued, would we deny the very order who had saved mankind, any kind of reward? Why would we say that they had too much power when, decades earlier, not enough power nearly brought doom to us all?

I was shaken from my thoughts, however, when the wagon rumbled to a halt. The stench of sweat and blood and rot assaulted my nostrils, along with the sound of steel against steel, and occasional cries of pain. 

The back of the wagon was thrown open by the templar, making me jump. She laughed, grabbing my arm and essentially dragging me out. I flailed my legs, trying to get my footing, but she dragged me too fast. 

Before us stood the home of the Templar order. Surrounded by towering cliffs on all sides but one, with jagged rocks hanging precariously above, Blackcliffe looked impenetrable. Despite the landscape, the enormous fort made its message clear. Its front walls were half as tall as the cliffs themselves, with thousands of slots for archers lining it. The fortress was only accessible by a narrow path, surrounded by massive boulders and steep drop-offs. The gate was narrow as well, to prevent the enemy from storming through en masse. Even from a league away, I could see pits of spikes and tar along the walls and the gate, underneath a thin bridge. The walls themselves were nearly three leagues long, if I had to guess, in both directions. 

“Welcome to Blackcliffe, kiddo.”

I only glared at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of...well, of anything. I wouldn’t speak, or cry, or grunt. No, she would not get the satisfaction of hearing my voice, no matter what.  
I finally managed to get my feet under me, and wrenched my arm from her grasp, causing her to draw her blade. I simply stood, gesturing with my head to keep leading me forward. She smirked, sheathing her blade, though she kept a hand on the pommel, before leading me towards the fortress. 

As we walked, we passed several phalanxes of men and women, sparring and training. I caught a glimpse of a young man, no older than Havadr, lying on the ground, a gaping wound in his stomach. Another trainee, no doubt the one who inflicted the wound, tried to run forward to help, but a templar caught him by the arm. After a moment of arguing, the templar drew his sword and plunged it into the wounded boy’s neck, killing him. His sparring partner backed away, and though I couldn't see it from here, his face likely went pale. 

I held my silence for the remainder of the trek, focusing on tugging at the knot binding my hands together. I found it to be much more difficult than anticipated- the path, which was hardly wider than a horse, was sloped in either direction, and held together worse than a pile of mud. My feet repeatedly sank into the dirt, nearly sending me down thirty feet of hard rock. 

On one such occasion, about three fourths of the way to the keep, a portion of the path somewhat larger than my body in width, and only a few inches shallower, a jagged rock, buried underneath, sawed through all but a few threads of the rope.

In an attempt to keep the templar from noticing which would undoubtedly cause her to manhandle me the rest of the way, I planted my feet in the dirt, leaning into the slope, and slowly making my way back up. The templar made no move to assist, either way. 

“Gotta say, kid, I'm impressed,” she said, shaking her head. “Most people have difficulty without their hands behind their back.”

I only glared, tempted to spit at her. She chuckled, resuming our hike. The remainder of the walk proved uneventful, as the open fields on either side of us gave way to pools of stagnant water, jagged black rock like the cliffs, and strange wooden poles with glowing runes swirling along their surface. Claw marks scored the bottoms of the poles, but never reached above the runes on their surface.

Soon, the walls of the keep towered over us, filling our view. As we came to the main gate, which was almost comically small, compared to the rest of the structure, a Templar wearing gold-tinted armor instead of plain grey stepped forward. The templar escorting me saluted, a jerky motion in which she clenched her hand into a fist, pounded it into her navel once, then opened her hand and rested it on her shoulder.

“Knight-Errant Brinhyld,” the gold wearing templar said, repeating the salute.

“Knight Captain Abrahim, sir,” the templar, Brynhild, replied, standing tall. After a moment, the knight captain grunted, turning to pound his fist on a metal band reinforcing the wooden gate. 

After a moment, the gate swung open slowly, producing a horrid screeching sound. Brynhild led me forward, into the keep. 

Inside, what I saw chilled me to the bones. 

Rows upon rows of young men and women, completely naked and utterly filthy, crammed together like sardines. Considering that there were hundreds, maybe thousands of people here, it was completely silent. Waste spotted the ground around me, packed down by hundreds of footsteps, and the stench of rot assaulted me with a vengeance. 

I had to resist the urge to gag, but I couldn’t help but look away, squeezing my eyes shut. Brinhyld made a disgusted sound, shoving me into the courtyard turned stables, and slamming the gate shut. In the shade of the walls, I could hardly see, but I managed to find an area to squat down, looking around. 

Among the sea of filth, templars stood guard at regular intervals of roughly one hundred feet, with a total of about fifteen of them. I saw a child reaching up to them, whether it be a plea for food or something else, and the templar simply planted a boot on their face, shoving them back. The child wailed, crying for their mother, and the templar drew his sword, slicing off their head, before returning to their original position.

Bile rose up in my throat, and tears stung my eyes. Sitting down, ignoring the filth squishing around my toes, I pried the rope apart, snapping the last few threads, and, upon noticing that no one else was tied up, stuffed the two lengths of rope into the shirt I wore, hunching slightly to keep them hidden. 

We all sat completely still, completely silent for gods know how long, before the front gate re-opened, and another prisoner was shoved in. Immediately, I noticed that his arm seemed to be made of metal, and second, how he seemed to be pleased to be here. A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The right side of his bare chest was mottled by scars, which branched about like lightning. 

Even though he was in a place that reeked of Humanity's darkest, most sadistic side, he walked in with an air of confidence, of smug authority. He immediately locked eyes with me, his red orbs piercing and analytic, and his grin grew slightly wider. 

Instead of moving towards me, however, he simply strode towards the far wall, roughly fifty feet away from me, and leaned against it, looking at every single individual person. On multiple occasions, as I sat hunched over, his eyes landed on me, for a single fleeting moment.

Eventually, as the courtyard grew dimmer, the gate opened once more, and in came a group of templars, led by the one called Abrahim.

“Stand up,” he ordered, his lips twisted in disgust. His skin was dark, almost as dark as mine, but latticed with pale scars. A short white beard hung from his chin, and his eyes were a piercing blue color. 

A few of us stood slowly, our bones aching from sitting on the cold hard stone. I was among those people, stuffing my shirt into the rough pants i wore to keep the rope from falling. The rest only looked up at him weakly. He narrowed his eyes, glowering at us.

“I said, STAND UP!” his shout echoed against the towering walls, seeming to grow louder and louder, until my ears rang. Slowly, everyone got to their feet, except for one girl, whose leg was twisted grotesquely. Abrahim stalked over to her, kneeling down. His hand rested on her shoulder, before straying down to her chest, grasping tightly. The girl whimpered, tears cutting through the grime caking her cheeks.

“May I ask why you aren’t standing, sweetie?” Abrahim asked, his voice thick with false sympathy. 

“M-my leg is broken…” she stammered back, trying to escape his grasp. He did release her, only to strike her with his fist, producing a wet crack. She cried out, falling back as blood streamed from her nose.

“The Templar Order will not tolerate weakness. A soldier can still stand even if his leg is broken. He can still fight if his arm is ruined. What he cannot do, however, is feel fear. He cannot feel weakness.” a pair of templars lifted the girl up, carrying her away from us. Moments later, screams began to reach us, followed by muffled choking. 

The boy with the red eyes and mechanical arm no longer looked so confident. Despite his skin being as dark as mine, he looked pale, as though he might be sick. I felt the same, but I maintained my stone-cold expression. 

Abrahim sniffed, turning on his heel and walking back through the gate.

“Tomorrow, the training begins.”


	4. Say Goodnight

Aðelsteinn 

As the templars cautiously aimed their swords at me, I calmly set the violin back into its case, before setting it into the cubby in the floor. I then turned back to them, smirking. 

“May I ask, sir, what evidence you have against me?” I inquired, putting my hands behind my back. 

The leader smirked, his piercing blue eyes narrowing. His skin was almost as dark as mine, which I hoped I could use in my favor.

“Multiple nobles around the city have taken a deal, as they are being charged with possession, by giving up their source,” he replied smugly, in a way that suggested that the nobles had not done so willingly. 

Before I could react, the templar grabbed my shoulder, slamming me into the wall, and pinning my wrists together. I wheezed slightly, my head spinning, and could only try to wrench my hands free as he tied them together. 

“You are going to avoid trial, and certainly a death sentence, however,” the templar continued, dragging me down the stairs. “You are being drafted into the templar order, where you will pay for your crimes by serving the people of Niflheil.”

My stomach dropped, and my mind began racing. There were rumors of how the templars treated their recruits, none of them pleasant. I had heard people say that the templars would rape and kill any who did not follow orders, no matter the reason. 

“You cannot draft me!” I cried, kicking my legs in a futile attempt to free myself from their grasp. He only laughed.

“And why is that, bastard? There is an Ink coming, you know.”  
“Bullshite! There is no evidence of that! The Nyn is behaving completely normal, and Aphotic haven’t even been spotted in three years!” i dug my heels into the ground, only succeeding in losing my shoes as a result.

The templar stopped, and threw me to the ground, placing his foot on my neck.

“You’d better cooperate if you know what’s good for you, boy,” he hissed, putting his weight on my neck. I gasped, trying to lift his foot away, to no avail. 

“The templar order owns you know, you piece of shite. I own you. You will obey me,” he pushed harder, and my vision faded, for a moment before he lifted his foot away. I rolled over, my chest heaving as some undeniably horrid sounds ripped out from my throat.

The templar smirked, lifting me up again and leading me out through the maze of alleys. I saw that a groove had been cut into the brick walls, as though by a small dagger. Once we reached the end, I saw said dagger. It was mine, the same one I had used earlier to intimidate Jacob. 

Anger flooded through me, and immediately my mind began creating plans to get my revenge. How dare he?! I gave him everything when the order disowned him! How could he just turn his back on me?!

As the templars dragged me through the filth caked streets of the outer ring, hundreds of people came out of their homes and alleys, all of them huddling together and watching. I struggled to get my feet under me, but the slick stone underneath made such a task nigh impossible. 

I refused, however, to let them humiliate me like this. Not without some retribution.

“See now, people of the third ring! See how your holy protectors have fallen!” I cried out, wincing as they tightened their grips on my arms. “See how they rip an innocent man away from his home, with claims of a crime he did not commit, with no reason for such an act. See how they have grown fat and drunk on their power!”

The templar leading them turned, drawing his fist across my face. I fell back, blood flowing form a cut on my cheek, before sitting up and spitting in his face. The crowd that had gathered began muttering as the templar snarled, punching me once more, then kicking me as I toppled over. The templar kicked me a dozen times or more, each time, putting more and more force behind it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the crowd begin to move, thin, emaciated men and women slowly staggering forward in a pathetic attempt to help, only for the templars to dive in, smashing their shields into the innocent. Blood and vomit spilled, and the peasants, clearly outmatched and outnumbered, withdrew, whimpering amongst one another. 

The templars then yanked me to my feet, dragging me forward once again, to a wagon drawn by a horse. They roughly threw me in, wrenching a cry from my lips as my bruised back hit the hard wood of the cage. 

Not wishing to die before I could set my plans into motion, I stayed still, no doubt looking pathetic and broken. 

The templars smirked, and all but one, the leader, walked away, returning to the city. The leader, the one who had beaten me, stared at me, for at least three minutes, when he pulled what looked like a brand off of his belt, smiling. The object ended in a symbol, one that looked like an omega symbol with a V on the top of it. 

He grabbed my hand, and instinctively I tried to wrench it away, earning a laugh from the templar. The brand’s tip began to glow, and he jammed it onto the back of my hand, scorching the flesh. Searing agony shot up my arm, as though my veins had been turned to fire, and a scream bubbled up in the back of my throat. I clamped my jaw shut, refusing to show weakness, but it was futile. 

As he took the brand away, I cried out, feeling the cool, harsh air against the burnt flesh like sandpaper. I cradled my hand, falling back into the wagon, whimpering and moaning pitifully. As much as I hate to admit it, I felt powerless, like a child. 

The wagon lurched forward, throwing my to the floor roughly. Shaking myself from my pain induced haze, I stood, peering out of the bars of the cage. Outside, the city of Neproniknutelný slowly shrank away, soon overcome by swathes of dead grass, groves of crooked, rotten trees, and the thick blanket of the Nyn, sparking with blue magic. 

Soon, exhaustion took over, and my legs all but collapsed beneath me. I huddled into the corner of the cage, ignoring the biting chill of the hinterland air as my eyes slid shut. Sleep washed over me like a sweet release from this world that was sure to become a true hell.  
____  
Aðelsteinn 

In Blackcliffe

As the girl’s tortured screams cut off into gut wrenching choking sounds in the distance, my stomach churned, and fear filled my gut like boiling pitch. This wasn’t something I could possibly survive! It was madness, pure madness! 

The girl who had caught my eye the instant I was brought in here looked towards me, absolutely no fear, no disgust, nothing in her expression. I could have sworn that she smirked slightly, before turning away as the templar, Abrahim, shouted again.

“Training begins tomorrow. Be ready!” 

He then turned on his heel, and passed back through the gate, which promptly swung shut with a damning thud. 

Slowly, everyone sat back down, including myself and the strange girl. I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my skull, and for some reason I was hesitant to turn around and look back. Something about her, something about how she carried herself, held too much confidence. Her will was hardly scratched by these monsters, and that in itself terrified me.

Finally, I gathered the nerve to look back at her, and her gaze immediately pinned me to the ground, so to speak. Her eyes seemed to glow in the near blackness of the keep, like a wolf’s might, two amber orbs filled with predatory instinct. She moved over to me silently, her feet not making a sound on the cobblestone, and she sat cross-legged in front of me.  
This close, she seemed slightly less terrifying. Her face and body was caked in filth and blood, and she was the only person, besides myself, who still retained some sort of clothing. Her skin, like mine, was a darker shade, only marred by a burn on the back of her hand. Unlike mine, it was shaped like a theta symbol. 

She only watched me, that ‘glow’ slowly fading from her eyes over several minutes. She appeared to be struggling to keep them open now.

I waited for her to say something, but she remained silent. A heavy blanket of exhaustion fell over me, and my head began to bob.

Until an eerie silence fell over the keep, that is. I realized, with a barely concealed dry heave, that the grotesque choking sounds had stopped, and I couldn’t bear to think of what had happened to that girl. 

The fear that had slowly faded to a dull presence without my notice came back with a vengeance. Sweat beaded along my brow, and my breath sped up, no matter how hard I tried to steady it. My hands began twitching uncontrollably, clenching and unclenching, twisting and turning randomly. 

The entire time, the girl only stared at me, even in the near pitch black, overwhelming darkness. I could no longer see her eyes, but I knew where they looked. I felt them, scanning me, reading me. 

Despite that, exhaustion crept back up on me, and no matter how hard I fought it, my eyes slid shut, and I floated into oblivion.


	5. Unbecoming

Verðandi 

“Hello, Verðandi.”

 

I felt warm sunshine on my skin, and the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers wafted over me. 

 

My eyes opened, and the sun shone into them, but it didn’t hurt. It felt soothing, somehow.

 

“Welcome home.’

 

“Wake up, you filthy shitebags! Get on your feet!”

The templars voice grated on my ears, and my eyes slid open to the harsh reality of the templar stronghold. The gold one, Abrahim, stood on an elevated stone platform adjacent to the gate, a stone fence in front of him. A group of silver-clad templars stood behind him, holding spears. 

Slowly, once again, the other captives crawled to their feet, already looking defeated. I followed suit, dried filth crumbling off my skin.  
The red eyed boy stood behind me, an unspoken bond of sorts between us. I didn’t like him, though I wouldn’t deny him this little comfort in a place like this. 

I noticed, in the dull morning light, that all the girls had the same theta brand on their left hands that I did, while all the boys shared the same omega v symbol on their right, save the red eyed boy, who bore his on his only fleshly hand. 

Abrahim began pacing, hands clasped behind his back.  
“Today, like I said, is your first day of training. It will not be easy. Many of you will die.”

A murmur rose up, as people who had never met, and never would have were it not for the templars spoke to each other, trying to find some kind of comfort in all of this. I didn’t need to find any. I felt no fear.

“The rest of you, the ones who prove your strength, who live, will become knights. Templars.”

He stopped pacing, turning towards us nearest to him. He looked each of us in the eyes individually. The rest of them, they were all pinned to the floor by his gaze, but I looked back at him with just as much ferocity. His gaze lingered on me, and I felt his eyes drift down. I didn’t falter, didn’t break my glare at all. After a minute or so, he looked away, licking his lips. A shiver went up my spine, and disgust curdled in the pit of my stomach. 

A group of more lightly armored men and women came out of the keep, pulling wagons with hoods over the tops. 

“Into lines, all of you. Boys on the left, girls on the right. Come on, hurry up!”

Slowly, we filtered out by gender, and I placed myself towards the front of the line. The red eyed boy stood taller, putting on a facade of confidence as he strode into the line. 

The girls around me all still carried themselves like ladies, with their elbows bent and their hands above their waists. I silently scorned them. How could they not realize what was going to happen to them? How could they still be clinging to the hopes that they might return to their old lives?  
I could make that happen

Shaking my head, I focused on standing tall, like a soldier, setting an example. A few of the girls near me noticed, and hesitantly followed suit, standing rigid.  
Soon, I got close enough to the front to see what was happening. One of the templars was handing out suits of basic chain mail and light plate mail, and ordering the recipients to put them on. No instructions on how to do so were given, and many of the girls were struggling, some even putting parts on backwards. 

The girl in front of me, a tall, light skinned brunette turned towards me, her cheeks and eyes red from crying.

“I don’t want to do this!” she cried, grabbing my shoulders. Her wail drew the attention of nearly everyone in the courtyard, including the templars.

“Quiet,” I whispered, shoving her forwards. “Stand straight, or they’ll probably punish you.”

“Punish me?!” her voice was hysterical, high pitched and cracking. A cackle bubbled up in her throat now, and her eyes danced back and forth. “What more can they do to  
us?! They’ve already taken everything from us! Our lives, our families, our humanity!”

“They could kill you. They could r….” I trailed off, remembering the poor girl who was dragged away yesterday. The memory sent fire coursing through my body, and once again, the chill of the hinterland air seemed to vanish.

The brunette shook her head, her chest heaving now.

“No, no no! This can’t be happening, this isn’t real! It’s just some twisted dream, right? It has to be! It has to b-”

She was cut short when an arrowhead erupted from her throat, producing a fine spray of blood. I staggered back, body numb, as the girl, still alive, collapsed to her knees, tortured wails ripping from her shredded throat, blood gurgling and spewing from her mouth. The arrow forced her mouth apart, glinting maliciously beneath a thin layer of blood, like a dark ruby. Her blood dripped from the metal and from the shaft like syrup, pattering against the dirty cobblestone below, pooling in the crevasses and flowing away, like a sanguine river. 

A templar, no, THE templar, Abrahim, languidly sauntered up behind her, a crossbow in his hand. The other girls backed away, too terrified to make a sound, but I stayed where I was, mere feet from the girl and him. She stared me in the eyes, tears streaming and snot dripping and blood gushing, her eyes seeming grey now. She reached a trembling hand out to me, and despite the arrow pushing through the left side of her mouth and the right side of her throat, I could her her pleading. 

“Please…” I could hear her say. Her words echoed around me, an unearthly reverb rolling the words into an unintelligible shriek. Her blood rippled from the sound, droplets rising from the ground, morphing into tiny mouths. 

You could have saved her

You could have saved her

Why didn’t you try

Why didn’t you try

You monster

You monster

I was stricken, paralyzed. For the first time since arriving at Blackcliffe, fear coursed through me, a cold, primal terror. Her blood, her life, her spirit, pooled around me, impossible volumes of it, rising like water in a bowl. It covered my hands, my knees, my feet, bubbling like boiling water. Then my elbows, my thighs, my stomach. Bones bobbed to the surface, bits of flesh and muscle still sticking to them. I saw clothing similar to that which my family wore, tattered and burnt. 

Then my shoulders and back, engulfed by the roiling sanguine sea. I looked around helplessly, only to see that all the girls around me had faded into shadows, with blood red pinpoints of eyes, sanguine slashes for mouths. Where Abrahim once stood, a gutted pig hung from a hook, still bearing his scarred, sneering face.

“Get up, girl. You’ve been fattened up, and now it’s time for the slaughter.” his mouth grinned a grotesque, huge grin, needle like teeth filling his jaws, dripping with red syrup. The sea of blood rose to my chin, and something grabbed my arms, my legs, my throat, slowly dragging me deeper, under the surface and into a crimson abyss.

I was dragged to my feet by Abrahim, and I blinked. All the blood had vanished, save for the now pitiful pool at my feet.

“What the devil is wrong with you? Are you deaf?!” he shouted, and I forced my mind away from the crimson stains. His face was inches from mine, fury blazing in his eyes. 

I was once again tempted to spit, but restrained myself for fear of punishment.

He threw me down, spitting himself. I quickly got to my feet, hands trembling as they now bore the girl’s blood. 

“Go get your armor, you worthless whore!” he snarled, shoving me forward. I numbly obeyed, staring at my bloodstained skin, hardly noticing the templar handing me the armor until he shouted something at me.

I took the set, moving forwards to where the other girls were dressing, and began dressing myself. First, the chainmail suit. It fit loosely, not made to conform to my body, but I didn’t think the templars would care. Then the greaves. 

The leg armor was too large, and I couldn’t tighten the leather straps enough to keep them snug. They rattled around like bones, scraping against each other. 

The gauntlets were also too large, and my fingers barely reached into the holes. Frustration broke through the numbness, and I tossed the gauntlets aside, cursing. 

I saw the few girls who had managed to dress moving towards another open area, behind the central castle itself. There, a second gold-clad templar, this one a woman, barked orders to us, telling us to get into phalanxes. 

I moved with the others, standing tall and looking straight forward. An hour must have passed, a straight hour of the templar shouting, girls crying, being beaten. All the noise, all the pain, began engulfing me.

As I stood there, in the front row of the phalanx, the gold clad woman began marching up and down the rows, forcefully correcting the girl’s stance, their position, their armor. One girl had been unable to properly equip her plate mail, and it lay at her feet. The templar stood before her, saying something I could not hear. The only sound I heard from her were the grunts and squeals of a hog. 

My attention must have lapsed, because upon blinking, the gold templar stood right in front of me. I looked up to her, maintaining a neutral expression. 

“Where are your gauntlets?” she asked, her voice surprisingly soft and soothing, or it would have been were the circumstances different. Now it just felt mocking. 

“They didn’t fit,” I coldly replied. I braced myself for a blow, but none came. The templar stayed silent for a moment.

“Why don’t you have them with you?” she inquired, her head tilting. Her skin was pale, and her jaw was a bit wider than most, but many would still call her beautiful.  
“I left them behind.”

She shrugged, walking away. I frowned, a tempest of emotions roaring inside. Was she playing favorites? Had Brinhyld told her of my skill, and she dare not risk damaging such a talented recruit?

“Why haven’t I been punished?” I asked, not aware that I had actually spoken aloud until she turned to face me. Her face remained calm, and no anger flitted through her gaze. 

“Because despite what the others say, one cannot learn to fight through pain if their mentor uses brute force. Pain must be administered in ways that do not inhibit their abilities.”

I saw then a strange sort of malice flicker through her gaze, and a chill ran up my spine. 

The templar then stood at the front, looking over the rows of girls. After a tense, silent moment, she spoke up, her voice still steady and calm, though now I could hear a coldness beneath her words.

“Soon, your initiation will begin. Right now, I will explain to you what you will face, and what you need to accomplish.”

“You will be divided into groups of five, selected at random. We will then pair you with a group of five boys. These teams will be your family for as long as you stay here. You will work with them, help them, support them, and they will do the same for you.”  
She smiled ever so slightly, an act that brought a cold knot of fear into my gut.

“Then, each group will be tasked with fighting and slaying one Aphotic creature.”

A hush fell over us, and it was as though everyone collectively stopped breathing. 

They were going to make us fight Aphotic?! The creatures of the Ink were beyond deadly. Besides being strong, they could spread their contagion with the simplest touch! 

Their contagion could spread like wildfire, and everyone infected would be none the wiser until it was too late. 

The templar then moved through the ranks, randomly tapping the shoulders of five girls at a time. After each set, she told them to group together, and so they did. One group huddled near me, whispering to themselves.

“...How in the world do they expect us to defeat an Aphotic?!”

“...probably don’t. They’ll probably set a timer or something and whoever’s still alive by then passes.”

“That’s insane!”

My heart began thumping in my chest, my blood began roaring in my ears. This was insanity. Part of me wondered if I had already died, and this was some kind of purgatory, or the machinations of some demon, toying with me. 

The templar approached me, my attention having lapsed once again, and I flinched. She smirked slightly once again, a dark sort of sadistic compassion glinting in her eyes.

“You feel fear, don’t you?” she whispered, a hunger glinting in her eyes. “You are afraid that this is the day you die.”  
I didn’t respond, only stared her in the eyes. Her smile, however slight, quickly faded and was replaced by a much clearer snarl.

“You will answer my question!” she snapped, backhanding me. I gasped, falling back to the cobblestone, but quickly staggered to my feet, wiping blood from my lip.

“No.” 

She paused, and the smile returned. 

“This young lady has shown me her bravery,” she called out, walking to the front once again.

“As such, she gets a reward.”

Everyone waited with baited breath. A plain, ironclad templar approached, holding two daggers- my daggers. Another carried my leather armor. A tempest of emotion  
roared inside once again, looking at these relics of my old life, a life I would give anything to return to. I wondered if my mother believed me to be dead, or if she had figured out that I had been taken. Perhaps someone had found Havadr, with that arrow sticking from his neck, and drew the conclusion that bandits had simply killed us. 

“She will be allowed to fight the Aphotic creature using her preferred weapons, which, according to Knight-Errant Brinhyld, she is a menace with. Two bandits in the space of a breath,” she said, looking at me. A mocking tone crept into her voice. “Truly amazing.”

“Of course, it wouldn’t be fair to the rest of you for her to be put into one of your groups. So, as such, she will be fighting alone.”


	6. Gravedigger

Aðelsteinn 

My stomach churned once again, standing in the rows amongst hundreds of boys, struggling to don their armor. Images of that girl being shot through the neck flashed in front of my eyes, and even though she had been hundreds of feet away, I could have sworn I could hear her blood dripping onto the cobblestone. The girl who had stared at me with those glowing eyes was evidently shell-shocked, losing her apparent confidence in an instant. All the girls, and the boys, immediately fell in line, eyes downcast, only occasionally flitting up to stare fearfully at the templars. 

How could anybody be so monstrous, I thought. How heartless would you need to be to let that girl die such a painful death? I was drawn from my thoughts by the sound of clanging armor, but still they swirled through my mind, and, like kindling thrown onto smoldering coals, burst into a maelstrom of hatred and anger. 

The boys were, upon recieving their armor, herded into a large area, surrounded on three sides by guard towers and walls. Despite housing nearly a thousand of us, we hardly filled it in. The girls were herded into what was likely an identical area, cut off from us by a wall. It felt like we were cattle being led to slaughter.

The armor they gave us was generic, not made to fit any one person. Only the greaves seemed to comfortably fit me, and that was only by comparison. Along my shins, the metal felt snug, and at my ankles, the edges of one of the plates bit into the skin. As for the codpiece, well, it seemed to be made for a five year old.

The rest of the plates were large enough that I could move around without them pinching or cutting, but they would occasionally catch on each other, locking together for a few seconds. I would need to get rid of the obstructive parts as soon as possible, if I were to survive this chaos.

The gold clad man, Abrahim, stepped to the front of the group, dabbing at his nose with a cloth. I must have imagined it, exhausted and battered as I was, but I thought I saw the cloth come away stained red. He tucked it away, sniffing. 

“Damn this cold…” he muttered, looking out over the sea of poorly fitting metal. He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Looking at you, I have a hard time believing you’re gonna be templars. You lot barely look like you could hold a sword. But soon you’ll be so much more. Well, some of you. Many of you will not survive your initiation, but those of you that do will be transformed.”

One boy gathered up the nerve to speak.

“What do we have to do for initiation?” he called, standing somewhere in the middle of the group.   
Abrahim smiled venomously, and fear once again grew in my gut, clawing at my insides.

 

“You will first be put into groups of five, and given some time to get to know your new friends. Figure out each other’s strengths and weaknesses, what they are good at and what they’re not good at. If any of that group survives, they will be your partners for the rest of your lives as templars.”

He shivered again, though it wasn’t terribly cold. I frowned, but dismissed the detail as minor. Perhaps he simply had a cold. 

How wrong I would find myself to be.

Briefly wondering why I was concerning myself with the health of such a despicable human, I was drawn from my mind as he continued speaking.

“Once you are put into these groups your initiation begins. Your task will be simple, if not challenging. You will be put up against a creature of the Ink, a Abaddonite, to be precise.”

A hush fell over the crowd, and curiosity welled up inside me. Despite being the lowliest kind of thrull, the weakest type of Aphotic, an Abaddonite was still deadly. And, after doing a quick head count, there were at least two hundred groups of boys, and I can only assume at least that many girls. The templars had at least an entire legions worth of thrulls at their disposal, housed either in a dungeon of some sort or corralled nearby. 

As Abrahim began calling names, I trawled through my memory for any and all knowledge I possessed concerning the Ink, and more importantly, the Aphotic. 

From what I had learned at the colleges, the Ink, in general, referred to the force that spawned the Aphotic, and that changed the Nyn, the ever present field of Mana that manifested as a thin, layered fog. Whenever the Ink manifested itself physically, in the form of the Aphotic, the Nyn became corrupted, changing from a harmless light grey to a swirling mess of dark browns, rusts, and crimsons. Where the Nyn was thickest, the air took on the smell and taste of blood. 

Thaumaturgy, the practice of using artifacts to channel the Nyn, became corrupted as well. This was probably the only reason there wasn’t a college to teach the practice yet. 

Typically used to aid in construction of forts and keeps, Thaumaturgy granted nearly limitless capabilities to a skilled thaumaturge, but also limitless dangers. The practice raised the possibility of simply destroying everything in a three league radius, and has even attracted Aphotic, when used on too large a scale, but had also proven to be extremely effective against greater Aphotic creatures like Lichs and Nightmares. An energized blade could cut through their thick hides as though it were passing through water.

Given enough time and some scrap metal, I could create a thaumaturgic device. My mechanical arm itself was thaumaturgic, but not such that it could be weaponized. Its sole purpose was to aid me in artifice, allowing me to bend and form metal in ways that would require a furnace and molds and hammers for an average artificer, as well as hours or days or even weeks. 

My planning was interrupted by Abrahim when he called my name. Feeling a sense of confidence rising inside, I stepped out of the row, walking right up to him. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but pointed to a group of four other boys, roughly twenty feet away. I strode over, blueprints and designs flashing through my mind. 

One of the boys, a fair skinned southerner, judging by his green and blue heterochromatic eyes, from the island nation of Sheol specifically. He nervously waved to me, and the way his hands were calloused and rough suggested he was either the son or apprentice of a carpenter. He appeared to be sixteen or seventeen, probably the latter. 

The second boy was a towering mountain of meat, probably taller than many of the templars. The scars on his face and arms suggested that he had lived on the streets,   
probably somewhere in the north, due to his darker skin. His armor lay in a heap besides him, and the templars didn’t appear to have punished him, understandably. The way he held himself lent him an air of authority, as well as an aura of mistrust and, possibly, paranoia. I suspected he may even have held a prominent position in a crime ring. I made a note of that-assuming any of us survived, I could use him later on.

The third boy had caramel skin, and narrow, almond shaped eyes. His oriental appearance pointed towards a Konatan heritage. The burn marks on his hands, which swirled much like mine suggested he worked with alchemy, probably some artifice. His eyes glinted with a great deal of intelligence and cunning. I would have to either get him on my side, or kill him. He would pose a threat otherwise.

The fourth boy, I thought, would be the first to die. The armor hung on his lanky arms and legs, and the chestplate was crooked. Hardly any muscle was visible beneath his pale skin, and he appeared to be struggling to stand under the weight of the metal. His wispy blond hair fluttered around in a light breeze, barely visible bald spots making themselves known. His skin was blotted with red marks, some open sores already formed. 

The boy with the blue and green eyes stepped forwards, seemingly unshaken by anything. I tilted my head, curious. Perhaps he had already accepted his death, or maybe   
he was too blind to see it coming. Either way, I thought, he would not have to worry. The plan I had constructed in my mind would, were it properly executed, ensure that none of them were killed by the Abaddonite. 

The boy held out his hand, a sad looking smile on his face. I shook it, giving him my most confident smile. It wasn’t difficult, considering how confident I actually felt. 

“My name’s Nils,” he said, his voice quite melodic. My composure felt strained, but I kept it under control. 

“Nils, it is a pleasure to meet you,” I replied, rather smoothly, in my opinion. His eyes had me transfixed.

“You’re… Aðelsteinn, right?” he asked, smiling slightly. I nodded, appreciating his attention to detail. 

“Yes, it is,” I answered, turning to the other three boys. They watched me curiously, though the sick boy seemed to be struggling to focus.

“Names Laerk,” the tallest grunted, holding out a hand. I smiled, shaking it with an appropriate amount of force with my prosthetic. He grinned slightly, what appeared to be a glint of admiration shining in his eyes. 

“Kirito,” the Kanato boy said, though he didn’t offer his hand. I paused for a moment, but shrugged, giving a nonchalant appearance. Kirito raised a brow, but remained otherwise motionless. Perhaps he had been trained in some form of martial arts, in addition to alchemy. 

Shaking my head, I noticed Abrahim watching our group far more than he did the others. 

“You have ten minutes to prepare for your initiation,” he bellowed, his voice rumbling across the courtyard like thunder. The sick boy began to shake, his armor rattling. I sighed, putting my metal hand on his shoulder, and giving him the most sympathetic look I could muster.

“Hey, kiddo, it’ll be alright!” I told him quietly, smiling. He looked up at me, his eyes red from infection and crying. The sickness he had would render him nearly blind, within a week or so. How the templars could be so cruel was beyond me.

The boy nodded, and didn’t notice as my metal hand briefly hummed. Kirito narrowed his eyes at me, but shook his head, likely dismissing the sound. Nils and Laerk didn’t seem to hear it at all, and I drew back, standing straight. 

“Do any of you know anything about Aphotic creatures?” I asked, looking each of them in the eyes. Only Nils nodded, stepping forward a bit.

“Yeah, I know a bit,” he said quietly. I was caught up in his voice for a split second. This boy, I thought, could easily be a singer. His voice was surprisingly deep, but not gravelly. 

“Enlighten us, then,” Kirito snapped. I shot him a withering glare, earning only a scoff and a shake of the head from the Kanatan. 

“Well, generally, they kind of reflect current society, don’t they?” I nodded, shrugging slightly.

“That’s unconfirmed, though there is substantial evidence to support it. Go on.”

“Right. The Ink is like… the opposite of the Nyn?” I cocked my head. I’d never heard it described as such, but it was fitting. The Ink did seem to behave like the Nyn.

“Nils, that certainly isn’t a theory popular among Cartographers,” I said, stepping forward. He shrugged.

“Too bad for them,” he replied nonchalantly. Laerk chortled, a hearty, deep laugh. A smile appeared on my lips before I had a chance to stop it, and even Kirito seemed to   
be affected. 

Our ten minutes, however, had evidently come to an end. 

The stench of rot, urine, feces, meat, and, overwhelmingly, death, flooded the courtyard. An ungodly shriek rended the air, a sound with multiple tones and pitches like a   
chorus of tortured souls wailing as an abhorrent demon whipped them. 

Collectively, Nils, Laerk, Kirito, the sick boy and I all turned, and the creature we saw was most definitely NOT an Abaddonite. 

The creature stood at least ten feet tall, on thin, twisted, asymmetrical legs, atop which an insectoid pustular body seemed precariously balanced. Its arms dragged along the cobblestone, fingers longer than my arm twitching, topped with grossly exaggerated talons. 

Its head, though…

By the gods, its head.

One might expect such a creature to bear a horned, devilish face, full of needle like teeth or pugnacious mandibles, dripping its vile saliva. The reality was far from that.

A baby-like face wailed out its multi toned cry, twisting in gut wrenching directions, snot and slobber and tears dripping from its chin. Its eyes were pitch black, not even glistening with moisture, and its teeth glinted black. 

Abrahim stormed over to the templars holding the creature in place with ropes around its neck, arms and legs. He shouted something to them, to which they cooly responded an equally unintelligible response. After a minute or so of heated conversation, he turned back to us, rubbing his temples. 

“By the order of Lord Benedikte, there has been a… change of plans.”

They were going to make us fight… a gravedigger?!


	7. The Devil's Coming

Verðandi

How dare she?! 

Once again, tempestuous rage roared through me, like an ocean wave that is moments away from cresting hitting me like a brick wall. 

How dare she treat me like this?! Tearing me from my home, my family, my life wasn’t enough? Now they had to separate me? Make me different from the rest? I would be singled out if I survived and trained harder, but rewarded more. The others would come to hate me! 

I almost didn’t notice the horrid, layered shriek that split the air, hundreds of voices wailing in a hellish choir.

I turned to find a baby faced monstrosity, standing twice as tall as anyone else. Its thin limbs and neck were ensnared by thick ropes attached to thick poles, the ends of which were held by several templars, struggling to hold on as they dragged the creature to the center of the yard. The girls collectively moved away, in a motion so coordinated it seemed choreographed. 

“This is the creature you will be fighting,” the templar announced, her voice jumping slightly. It sounded like she was trying not to laugh. As though she would get off on the coming battle. 

I can help you live I can make you win I can make her suffer

A strange sensation settled over me, akin to waking up in a cold sweat. As if out of my own body, all feeling faded, and my vision began shaking. I watched my hand move skyward, and heard my voice call out.

“I will go first,”, my mouth said, but my mind screamed the opposite. My awareness slammed back into me, and I gasped, doubling over. 

Why is this happening?! I screamed into my mind, begging whatever spirit that had taken ahold of me to cease.

I am helping you will win you must be first

The spirit, or whatever it was, chuckled, its voice in my head sounding much like my own. 

The templar stepped forward, her eyes wide in excitement. 

“Oh? Ready to prove to us that you aren’t a mistake? That you belong here?” she grabbed my throat, her hand moving like a viper’s head. I gasped, a final breath at her grip cut off my lungs. 

Though I dismissed it as an effect of an oxygen deprived brain, a faint shadow appeared behind her, nearly identical in form to me. A wide slash appeared in its blank face, and a faint giggle echoed around me.

The templar released me, dropping me to my knees. I gasped, rather unattractive sounds rattling through my throat. She grabbed my arm, lifting me to my feet, and shoved me towards the monstrosity. The templars holding it began dragging it towards the opposite side of the courtyard, demonstrating how deceivingly strong its limbs actually were. 

They were barely able to keep their feet on the ground, and multiple times they were lifted away slightly. As I picked myself up, a templar approached me, holding my daggers.  
His armor, a dull grey, suggested a low rank, and when I looked into his eyes through his helmet, I saw fear, and, surprisingly, pity. 

I took my knives, immediately feeling far safer with their familiar bone grips fitting into the palms of my hands perfectly. Years of use had forced the material into a perfect fit for my hands, and the blades, crafted from the bones of a Vlkodlak, could cut through just about any organic material, leaving rot and disease in the wounds. The knives were deadly instruments, ones that were unique and tailored to me.

I nodded my thanks to the templar, who stood awkwardly before nervously patting my shoulder. As I moved towards the Aphotic beast, dozens of templars swarmed from the keep, holding tower shields that dwarfed their wielders, and formed a loose semicircle around me and the beast. The templars holding it braced themselves, then, in one coordinated motion, all released the ropes. They sprinted towards the semicircle, but in a horrifying display of speed and power, the aphotic managed to grab two of them, immediately killing them as its claws sank right through their armor. The other three managed to safely get through the circle, which then tightened, forming a solid wall of steel. 

A grotesque crunching brought my attention back to the abomination before me. The bodies of the templars were in the process of being consumed, blood and viscera running down the plump cheeks of the beasts babe-like face. It giggled at me, crunching down on a mouthful of bone and muscle, squirting various fluids from its mouth.  
Are you ready?

I hesitated, knowing that this wouldn’t be something that could be undone later. Whatever creature had taken up residence inside me, whatever it wanted, I would have to deliver it. But if I refused, I would surely die.

Yes. 

No return no going back cannot be undone souls bonded forever

I shuddered. No sort of phantasmal entity could possibly have a soul. They were empty shells intent on harvesting the lives, memories, and emotions of others. This was something else. 

I’m ready. 

Good.

A wave of what could only be described as serenity washed over me. Once again, my consciousness seemed to drift away from my body, but this time, feeling didn’t fade. I flexed my fingers, feeling a sort of numbness in them, like pins and needles. 

A familiar sensation also came to mind behind my eyes, a reversed sort of pins and needles. Something about this whole situation felt horribly wrong, like someone had not only walked across my grave, but held a party atop it. 

The aphotic creature, as if submerged in syrup, slowly reached out a taloned hand, claws angled to point directly at my heart. As it inched towards me, my mind constructed a series of motions, planning out every possibility, every option, every potential outcome, at a speed that would have rendered me speechless. Never before, for any reason, had my mind worked at such a pace.  
Just before the claw touched me, an incredible sense of power rushed through my limbs. My left leg pushed off the stone with tremendous force, launching me to the right and forwards, at which point, roughly three feet from the beast’s leg, I pushed off with both feet, propelling me straight up. The aphotic’s left arm reached up to grab me, but my right hand, holding that dagger against my palm with my third and pinkie finger, grabbed onto the first segment of the second finger of that hand. I pulled myself around the claws, my other hand carving a path through the tissue surrounding its wrist. The blade easily slid between the joint connecting the hand to the wrist, and, with a fantastic spray of blood, it fell away, sinking through the air.  
A sound that would no doubt be painfully high pitched to anyone else but only sounded like a dull roar of thunder to me exploded from the creatures lips, spraying black saliva. I sank the dagger held in my left hand into its right shoulder, using it as an anchor to pull myself forward, underneath the spray, and around to the back of its neck. As the right hand came towards me, reaching over its shoulder, I hurled the dagger in my right hand into the palm, piercing it like a pin through a butterfly. Yanking the other dagger out of its shoulder with my right hand, holding onto its back with my legs, I proceeded to plunge the blade directly into the center of the beasts neck, piercing its spine. With two swift motions, I ripped it through each side of the neck, severing it entirely. As the corpse slowly fell through the air, I gently kicked off, slowing my descent just enough to avoid hurting myself. I landed a distance from the body, and from the slowly spreading pool of black blood.  
All at once, however, my mind slammed back into my body, once again leaving me breathless. I wheezed, falling to my knees in agony. A sensation like fire spread through my limbs, worse than any pain I’d ever felt.  
Why does it hurt so much?!  
What do you expect, after pushing your muscles so far past their natural capabilities? I may be able to unlock this power for you, but that doesn’t mean I can prevent the buildup of lactic acid in your muscles.  
What acid?  
Nevermind.  
The gold-clad female templar strode up to me, and when I lifted my head to look at her, I saw something resembling respect in her eyes.  
“I have never seen anyone, initiate or full-fledged templar, take a gravedigger down so fast. Verðandi Ahlträd, damn you to Hel, but you have my respect.”  
I chuckled weakly, my mind still trying to process what had just happened. Now that the rush had faded, that wave of power, I struggled to even comprehend the motions I had made  
My arms began trembling, sore and overworked as they were, and promptly gave out. My cheek crashed into the cobblestone, sending a sharp pain shooting through my jaw, but even as it happened, darkness closed in around me, and my eyes slid shut. Finally, sleep found me once again.  
_______  
My eyes opened to a soft sunlight, a gentle caress of warmth and love.  
“Welcome back, Verðandi.”  
Grass tickled the arch of my back, the curve of my neck. A sweet earthy scent once again filled my nostrils, like trees ripe with fruit, flowers releasing their succulent smell. Around the sun in the sky, branches almost cradled it, appearing to caress the bright orb.  
The sound of birds chirping slowly increased in volume, a calm, relaxing tune. It reminded me of a song my mother would sing to me as a child. The song was also welcome because it was far from the birdsongs that would be heard around Svarturhaven. Marsh birds let out an unbelievably irritating screech, and could hold it for well over a minute.  
I sat up slowly, my body feeling more relaxed than it ever had before, my muscles loose, my skin unbruised. Considering I hadn’t eaten in three days, I should have felt starving, but I didn’t.  
I noticed then that I was completely naked, but the serenity and isolation of this place stopped me from really caring. I just wanted to stay here forever.  
I lay in a large clearing, tall trees bright with vines and flowers circling me. Small, squirrel like critters scurried up and down the trunks, leaping from branch to branch. The birdsong came from beautiful, vibrant avians, none quite alike, some dark with splashes of brilliant yellow or green, some all the colors of the rainbow.  
The trees themselves bore plump, translucent violet fruit, the odor of which I could smell from where I sat.  
Wherever I was, it must have been paradise.  
My relaxation was interrupted by a cracking branch. Immediately, all the birds and critters went silent, swiftly retreating to what they believed to be a safe distance. Something told me that whatever was coming, they would never be safe from, no matter how far they were.  
At the opposite side of the clearing, a figure emerged. My breath caught in my chest, because the being that stood before me now was… me. But at the same time, it wasn’t.  
Whereas my skin and hair were dark, theirs was white as snow. My eyes were green, but theirs were, a striking violet, surrounded by pitch black.  
She strode forward, swaying her hips in a way that definitely did not work with my body. Most women, since they were rarely allowed exercise, became plump, at which point they were expected to do something to reverse the process until their spouse found their body attractive. Obviously, this didn’t apply in the army, the templar order, or, in my case, as a hunter. My chest was rather flat, with muscle rippling just beneath the skin all over. I knew some men who would kill for the abs I had, and my legs were sculpted like stone.  
“Hello, Verdandi.,” she whispered. Her voice was almost identical to mine, though a slight undertone ruined the effect. It sounded like an older woman, with a voice like sandpaper.  
“Hello, whoever you are,” I said, pushing myself to my feet cautiously. The copy smiled, reaching up to a branch and plucking one of the fruit.  
“The heartfruit is a beautiful object, Verðandi. A single scrap of one, a piece of skin, or meat, or what-have-you, is enough to sprout a new tree. It reminds me of the phoenix. A legendary firebird, one that, no matter how injured or sick, old or frail, can always be reborn from the ashes.”  
She sank her teeth into the fruit, releasing a sweet, sugary scent into the air. Rivulets of juice ran down her chin, dripping to the ground. My mouth watered-while I may not have felt hungry, the fruit smelled so delicious.  
“Sadly, no more heartfruit grows anywhere on this world. They were wiped out by a greedy, cruel race who sought to do no more than rise above the ones who had protected them from the darkness.”  
Sadness crept into her voice, a despair so strong, so complete and absolute that my heart ached to hear it. No phantasm could manage to convey such strong emotion. This was something so much more.  
“I'm sorry to hear that,” I told her, my voice cracking. She smiled sadly, stepping forwards and placing a hand on my cheek. Her palm was ice cold, like a corpse, and I gasped.  
“Verðandi, you are the key,” she breathed, hardly saying it. I shuddered, the words seeming familiar to me. “You are the only one who can save this world, my child.”  
I nodded, her words seeming to click in my mind, like the last brick in a wall. Of course, of course I was the only one. Why else had this… this goddess chosen me?  
“What is going to happen?” I asked, resting my palm over her hand. Her skin was soft, flawless.  
“The great Tree is waking, Verdandi. Your goddess, Hyldemoer, wiped my kind from this world, along with a hundred thousand others, simply because she thought them impure. Her hypocrisy knows no bounds, for she is the filthiest harlot, the worst, most impure creature. She is a denizen of the underworld, a creature born of rot and death and disease. She sought to bring this world to its knees, so that she may feed off our misery.  
“My family refused, however. Our magic was powerful enough to counter her aura of despair and suffering. We built an army, a grand army the likes of which the world had never seen, and hasn’t since. Sadly, however, it wasn’t enough. We were but mortals, creatures born of blood and sweat, while she was ancient, more powerful than anything to walk our world. We stood no chance against her might, her raw strength. She took mankind, your kind, a race we had protected from the darkness and the Ink, and turned them against us. She armed them with magic, far more potent than our own. We were obliterated, so absolutely that no trace of our civilization remained. I am the last of my race, a lone soul seeking vengeance against a cruel and merciless goddess.”  
I frowned. Perhaps this being had been asleep, or imprisoned, or whatever for longer than she thought.  
“Mages haven’t existed for over three hundred years, though.”  
She nodded, her eyes closing.  
“Indeed. Hyldemoer, fearful that their talent and power would evolve, stole the magic back, leaving humanity bare and bitter. Thus the first Ink in your recorded history began, brought about by the anger and sorrow of a weaker race. The Ink as you know it today, a dominating, overpowering juggernaut, is a product of Hyldemoer’s meddling, and yet her silver tongue tricked your kind into worshipping her.”  
My head swam, truths I had been taught from childhood being shattered and discarded. But one thing still bothered me about her story.  
“Demons are creatures of darkness, though. Why can Hyldemoer use light magic if she is a demon?”  
The doppelganger smiled, her body pressing into mine.  
“Another falsehood created by her. Demons, as we so affectionately call them, aren’t all vile beasts intent on destroying everything good and pure. Many of them, in fact, want nothing to do with your world, and merely slumber for eons. Hyldemoer, however, is young. By their standards, at least.”  
I felt disoriented, but content. This being, who held my form, but not quite, I could feel her sadness like a bitter cold, and her desire like a searing flame. A desire that could only be fulfilled by one thing, I knew. I knew that flame all too well.


End file.
